What Good Is A Song

What use is a word, don’t mean what it says?
Like a story book ending it’s better off read.
How far is a memory, how long is a blues,
which way is a road in the wrong pair of shoes?

What good is a place that can’t be found
To hear it told you know things just go round and round.
I had a thought that I thought would do.
What good is a song if it can’t capture you?

It don’t take a hard lot of drinking,
to come up with an empty afternoon.
And it sure don’t hardly take a lot of thinking,
to know tomorrow always comes to soon.

Wandering round a meadow, big star on the fade,
Red Wing calling in the night or mourning the lack of day.
Standing on a platform, last train slipping by,
I got one foot on the tiles and one foot on the line.

I never asked the Sun to pay attention,
but that star kept a shadow at my side.
And I never got the wind to change direction,
but then again I maybe didn’t try.

How far is a memory, how long is a blues
which way is a road in a tired pair of shoes?
I had a wish, now I wish I knew,
what good is a song, if it can’t capture you?

I Know Water

I know water, I been caught in the rain,
and that’s a lot like sunshine, yeah they’re about the same.
It’s a lot like leaving and coming back again.
And I know water.

I heard whispers from the stony ground
and that’s a lot like visions in an empty town.
It’s like old Ray-Bans in the lost and found.
And I know water.

I know water and I know wells,
and how a man looked in and fell.
Your own reflection is real far down,
you gotta lean way in to see that sound.

When the grass is tall by the muddy way,
when there’s none at all and no words to say,
a simple breeze may turn my way.

I know love, I see it all around,
but it’s like those Ray-Bans in the lost and found.
They don’t quite fit, or the color’s wrong,
it’s like the seven seas in a cowboy song,
it’s just some place where it don’t belong.
And I know water.

 

Skipping Stone

Skipping stone how it flies on the water.

Wandering child how she smiles in the sunshine.

Beating heart, whittling blade in the black bark.

Lover’s laugh, don’t it sing like a fountain

 

The Same Words

I heard it on  the radio, all the way from Bangladesh
the story of a grieving mother.
She lost her daughter to a grave injustice, you could hear her voice
just behind the English.

And she used the same words that I would use, that anyone might say.
And her heart was broken in some unnatural way.
In a language from across the world and sounds of bitter grievance,
with a voice that promised there was nothing left to lose,
she used the same words that I would use.

I had heard that far away people were some other way,
their feelings were like stones in a river.
This was said in simple tones like simple truths that we all know
and then I heard this mother on the radio.

And she used the same words that I would use, that anyone would say.
And her heart was broken, in some unnatural way.
With a few short words in a tongue I never learned,
and sounds of bitter grievance.
Through a world translator from twelve thousand miles away
she said the same thing, that I would say.
In a voice that promised she had nothing left to lose
she used the same words that I would use.

 

Dirt Road Travelers

We gathered all our things, beginning with the big stuff,
cause the big stuff is so easy to find.
Then we loaded up a flatbed truck, joked a little and acted tough
and then we looked at all the stuff we’d left behind.

It took a couple of years to get it done, pack the boxes one by one
and pile them up outside the western door.
And when the flatbed had a heavy load we watched it rumble down the road
and wouldn’t hear that music anymore.

Easy laughter is hard to find, like an autumn blanket it keeps it’s own time
and singing smiles walk private paths when morning comes, but it don’t last.

Now the western road is long and straight.
It’s a thousand miles and getting late.
And sunset is a thing that doesn’t wait.

So wave goodbye you dirt road travelers,
say goodnight to singing laughter
it’s not coming back this way again.

Easy laughter is hard to find like a lazy day it takes it’s own time.
Skipping stones and angel crafts like memories, fall into the past.
Singing smiles walk private paths when morning comes but it don’t last.

 

Jack Of Diamonds

Ace come on with red lights flashing, king and queen in kind.
Big X sparkling in my hand but not the jack of diamonds no,
I did not draw the sad eyed prince, the card I could not find.

Many were the shimmering nights, long and liquid times.
Many came with gifted smiles but not the jack of diamonds no,
I did not see the sad eyed prince, a card I could not find.

The preacher has a mighty song and he sings it loud and long.
Draw your hand from the spirit land but leave the jack of diamonds,
you will not need that sad eyed prince, a card you leave behind.

Traveling is a road well spent and brings it’s own reward.
Destinations can be bought but not the jack of diamonds no,
you cannot buy the sad eyed prince, a card you cannot buy.

I have held a bowl of laughter, singing walls and rafters.
I have held the queen of hearts, but not the jack of diamonds no,
I never held the sad eyed prince, a card I left behind.

 

Gone To The Lowlands

they say she’s gone to the lowland
lost again in the barrens
somewhere she is wandering alone
can’t remember home

don’t know when it happened
lost her compass and atlas
put your hand in my hand
i have come for you

oh my aim is a true one
and my love has just begun
toor a loora tooralooraloo rayay  mmmm

I will take the footpaths
I will ride the ferries
hijack any ship on any sea
always come for you

 

Like A Train

It’s like a train.
It’s a real fast train on a foggy track
on a great long journey and it don’t look back.

It’s like a train.
It’s a real slow ride on a mountain side
you come around the bend and you’re
way up high.

It’s like a train.
It’s a powerhouse train, got eighty-eight cars,
and every car got a piece of my heart,
every car,
got a piece of my heart.

 

Sun On The Muddy

There ain’t no stars in the sky at the muddy,
sun’s so big now it scared them all away.
Here I’ll stay past the blue gone ruddy,
I’ll make me a wish on the very first ray.

Let’s go out to the sun on the muddy.
Lay with the turtles on the broken down trees.
Roll like muskrats and maybe get lucky,
slip into the water and ripple away.

Hey Molly, put down the broom and pick up the wonder wand.
Hey Molly, this is the time for glitter and folly,
sun on the muddy won’t last all day,
let’s get swampy now what do you say.

There’s a party out on the muddy,
great red dragon flies having their way.
I got a feeling the place is getting ducky,
slip into the water it’s a water kind of day.

 

Little Wonder

At the dawn I am marching, through the dark I am wandering on and on.
Tell me where is shelter, tell me where is solid ground.
Come around little wonder, it’s all right when I hold to you

In a storm I got a fast horse, in a flood I got a boat and a rocking chair.
Take my hand to shelter, take me down to solid ground.
Come around little wonder, it’s all right when I roll to you.

When I shine I’m lightning, when I speak I am thunder in the sky.
Lay me down by your shelter, lay me down on solid ground.
Come around little wonder, it’s all right when I hold to you.

There’s a time to measure, there’s a time to let it be.
Call to me, I’m listening. Wave to me I read the signs.
Take my hand to your shelter, lay me down on solid ground.
Come around little wonder, it’s all right when I roll to you.
It’s all right when I hold to you.

 

The Poetry of Longing

The poetry of longing is a deeply clanging bell,
they say you never miss your water  till there’s no water in your well.
And the moon is just as lonesome while it’s rising to the black
as when it’s sinking down you think it’s never coming back

The poetry of longing is ten thousand phrases long,
it’s a river, it’s a highway, it’s a song.

I’ve heard it said a picture is worth a thousand word,
I don’t know who said that, that’s just what I heard.
When I look at your picture, no words come to mind,
just the lonesome howl coyotes make, to pass the lonesome time.

The poetry of longing is ten thousand verses long,
it’s a river, it’s a highway, it’s a song.

One day is a notion, two days is some time,
three days begs forgiveness and four days is a crime.
All at once the well is empty, the bell will have it’s say,
and in that moment, there’s just this howling lonesome way.